


Viscum Album

by Elliewood



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Christmas Fluff, K/S Advent Calendar, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-18
Updated: 2013-12-18
Packaged: 2018-01-05 01:35:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1088052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elliewood/pseuds/Elliewood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock accepts Nyota's invitation to the on-board winter solstice party.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Viscum Album

 

 

Nyota enters the turbolift with me as we exit the bridge.  
  
"Spock, we're having a winter solstice party, 2100 tonight in the mess hall. You're coming, right?"  
  
I hesitate before answering her, for several reasons, the first being my recognition of the illogic of celebrating a planetary occurrence light-years from our present location. I choose to ignore this aspect of her query, however; I have noticed over the past several months that Terrans cling to their cultural traditions with increasing tenacity the farther we travel from Earth. I cannot fault them for this behavior, as I myself find increasing comfort in adhering to the customs prevalent among the society of my own planet as we journey into increasingly unfamiliar space. The second reason is my awareness that social events such as this are highly prized by the rest of the crew, and Nyota's organizational skills are superior; if she has planned this event, it is certain to be well attended. Ordinarily I do not participate willingly in such gatherings as they are often an exercise in what Humans call "relaxing," which in my experience functionally translates into ingesting an excess of alcoholic beverages and behaving most inappropriately. These displays confuse and exhaust me unduly, to the extent that I soon retire to the quiet of my quarters, away from the raucous laughter and unseemly comportment of my shipmates. And the third is that I already feel strangely fatigued at this moment, unusual for me since a standard duty shift only very infrequently entails activity strenuous enough to tire me. However, this evening I find myself anticipating with pleasure a light meal followed by a great deal of solitary rest.  
  
But it also occurs to me that he will be there. Absent illness or some other emergency, it is his habit to be present at occasions such as this that afford him opportunities for socialization with the crew.  
  
"Yes. I shall attend."  
  
She smiles and squeezes my arm in thanks as she exits the lift. "See you there. And wear something green."  
  
I do not believe I have any such garment on board, but I will strive to locate one, to please her.  
  
***  
  
As it happens, I was correct in my assumption; I do not possess any item of clothing of the shade she requested. I content myself with a simple black tunic over a dark red shirt and black trousers.  
  
"Perfect," she says, and smiles as she presses a roll of adhesive tape into my hand. Her own outfit is strikingly similar to her duty uniform, a short red dress but with long sleeves and cuffs of what look like some sort of white animal pelt. Perched on her dark hair is a cap of matching material with more of the white fur adorning its periphery.  
  
I glance about the mess hall. "It is quite transformed."  
  
"We still have some work to do. You can help."  
  
She hands me a garland, several meters long and consisting of artificial leaves, plastic and pointed and interspersed with small red spheres and tiny lights. "Here. Hang this up over on that wall. Make it look festive."  
  
I have no idea how to accomplish the latter, but I can certainly attach the decorations to the wall near its juncture with the ceiling. She seems satisfied with my attempt and hands me another grouping of leaves, real rather than artificial, the attendant berries white in color and somewhat waxy.  
  
"This goes up in the center of the room. Not too high, though, so people can still reach it. And don't eat the fruit -- it'll make you sick."  
  
Curious that a poisonous plant should be the centerpiece of the room's décor, I attach it as directed and await my next instructions, but none appear to be forthcoming as she directs others concerning the proper placement of the refreshment tables and the musical instruments. I remove myself to an unoccupied corner of the room, near the newly positioned beverage bowl, and await the commencement of the festivities.  
  
***  
  
I do not understand why Humans persist in demonstrating a deliberate, even ostentatious, lack of punctuality to social functions. Nyota clearly informed me that the party was to begin at 2100, yet it is nearly 2200 before the room begins to fill.  
  
The doctor enters, spots me across the room, and hurries over to me, a smile growing on his face. Unlike myself, he is evidently in possession of a green shirt.  
  
"Spock! Didn't think I'd see you here! You planning on sharing the Christmas spirit?"  
  
I shake the hand he offers me, pleased that I do not perceptibly recoil at the touch or at the clap he delivers to my shoulder. "Indeed. And that of Saturnalia, Lenaia, Juul, Chaomos, and dozens of other similar seasonal Terran celebrations."  
  
"Well, I don't know about any of those other things. Just get me some eggnog, and I'm happy."  
  
I comply, relieved to have some function to perform other than standing and waiting. The unmistakable odor of liquor wafts upward from the bowl as I dispense the eggnog into a cup for him.  
  
"Damn right," the doctor answers when I voice my suspicion. "Kentucky bourbon; been hoarding it for months. Have a sip."  
  
I decline, based on my assumption that the beverage contains the animal product indicated by its name. The doctor scoffs at my hesitation and thrusts the cup toward me. "Fake eggs, real booze. Come on, try it."  
  
I do, and it is surprisingly delicious, not very sweet and flavored with some delectable spice. The bourbon leaves a pleasant vapor in my nose, and I am gratified at this instant that Vulcans are not susceptible to the inebriating effects of alcohol, as I am free to indulge in as much of the beverage as I care for without fear of losing my composure.  
  
Nyota approaches and takes the doctor's arm. "About time you showed up. Help me fix the holly over by the speakers."  
  
We both turn to observe a portion of the garland -- not the strand I hung earlier, I am pleased to note -- drooping toward the floor. The doctor reclaims his cup and toasts me with it as Nyota leads him away by the hand, and I observe as he positions the stepladder for her to climb, hands her the errant garland, and places his hands loosely around her waist as she reattaches the decoration, mindful of any accidental fall. She turns toward him, her task accomplished, and lays her hands on his shoulders before hopping off the ladder, laughing, into his arms.  
  
I pour myself some eggnog and turn to observe the growing crowd. It appears that everyone on alpha shift, and quite a few on gamma, are giving up a portion of their rest periods to attend. The lights dim as the music starts, and while it is too loud for my taste, it is not unbearable as is often the case for similar Human gatherings. Many of the crew pass by the refreshment tables and take a cup of punch or a plate of cookies or a slice of cake; and I am kept busy for some time refilling cups, bussing used plates and silverware back to the washing area, and even, once the doctor has supplied me with the recipe, preparing more of the popular eggnog.  
  
Nyota notices my industry and comes toward me to take an empty punchbowl from my hands. "Enough work. Go enjoy yourself."  
  
By "enjoy," I assume she means circulate and socialize. I comply, engaging in brief conversations with many of the officers as I perambulate, satisfied at my ability to recall names and facts about each person I speak with. After a time I am surprised to find that I am indeed enjoying myself, that my social skills are sufficiently well developed for the interactions expected of me and that my efforts are, as far as I can tell, well received by the persons with whom I converse.  
  
But I know as I revolve about the room that I seek only one, and he is not here.  
  
  
***  
  
It is shortly after 2300 when a cheer rises from the increasingly loud and drunken mass. I turn my head from Mr. Sulu, with whom I have been engaged in a fascinating discussion of old Earth hand weaponry, to see him enter the room. Like me, he is not wearing green or his command gold, but rather a loose white shirt tucked into worn blue jeans.  
  
My mother once used the term "social butterfly" to describe a Human acquaintance of hers, and while I found the phrase mysterious at the time, I recognize its utility now. For he is like a pollinating insect, visiting small groups of people and investing time with each. He makes certain to form a connection with each crewmember, smiling and joking with each one, shaking hands or embracing or even kissing on the cheek, before he moves to the next group to repeat the process. I watch while pretending not to, maintaining my own discourse with others and carefully averting my eyes from him lest they betray my eagerness for his approach. I observe his progress with my peripheral vision, his white shirt apparent through the throng, stopping at each blossom of green and red before moving to the next.  
  
It is some time before he makes it to the beverage table for two cups of eggnog and even more time before he reaches my side, one of the cups half drunk, the other meant for me.  
  
A flush rises on my cheeks at his thoughtfulness and I attempt, unsuccessfully, to quell it as I take the cup from his hand, my fingers daringly brushing his as if by accident as I do so. I allow my eyes the pleasure of roaming over his face to note the golden hair darkened by the damp of a shower, the skin freshly shaved, the eyes almost grey in the dimness of the room.  
  
"Having a good time?"  
  
I am pleased to be able to answer truthfully. "Yes. It is most entertaining."  
  
He nods and drinks from his cup, then licks a trace of eggnog from his upper lip. "I generally don't like Christmas parties, but this one's okay. Music's great."  
  
I look over to the musicians, two of whom I recognize from the science lab. "They are indeed most talented."  
  
"They agree with you."  
  
I follow his gaze to see several couples dancing in the middle of the room under the branch of leaves and berries I hung earlier. Nyota and the doctor are among them, his arms around her waist, her hands linked around his neck as they sway from side to side. One of the musicians notices as well and calls out.  
  
"It's midnight, and that means mistletoe! Get your kisses in before the berries run out!"  
  
The doctor hesitates, but Nyota pulls him to stand directly beneath the poisonous plant then draws his head down to hers. I see them smile at each other before their eyes close and they kiss, one of his hands drifting upwards to clasp her upper back as they press closer to each other. They separate a few seconds later to the cheers of their shipmates, and the doctor reaches up to pull a white berry from among the leaves, evidently a signal that it is now time for everyone to indulge in this Human display of affection.  
  
Over the next several minutes, couple after couple approaches the branch to kiss beneath it and remove a berry, some serious in their intent, others less so. Mr. Chekov and Miss Darwin are noticeably ardent as they embrace, hands squeezing and roaming over respective buttocks, eliciting a loud cheer and applause from the crew. Of particularly amusement to the assembled crowd is the trio of Mr. Scott, Keenser, and Dr. Marcus, each of whom kisses the other two before plucking their berries; Keenser unfortunately ingests his, requiring prompt application of the Heimlich maneuver by Dr. Marcus to induce him to eject it onto the floor.  
  
He, standing companionably next to me, says nothing as the kissing continues, only laughing gently with the rest, and I feel an odd lethargy, almost like an illness, overtake me as the white berries dwindle in number. For I find I wish to indulge in this odd tradition, to clasp a lover beneath this spray of small fruit and leaves. Yet I have none, no one with whom to share an embrace such as those I see before me; Nyota, released from our association, has found another, and I, free as well, am ironically a prisoner to another.  
  
I inhale his fragrance, the clean soap and the masculine scent, and ponder the many ways in which I am a fool to have hoped for an understanding between us, an intimate partnership. I hoped for his touch on my hand and on my shoulder and his occasional embrace to be more than expressions of platonic friendship that Humans frequently make among themselves. How nonsensical of me to long to be anything more to him than one flower among many, one blossom for him to visit for a brief moment and subsequently leave in search of another. And the logical part of my brain cannot fault him for this; he has given me no word, no promise of anything like that for which my heart so desperately hopes. Yet the lethargy remains, intensifies, until my empty cup seems too weighty to hold any longer.  
  
One by one the berries are claimed until there are only three, then two, then one solitary white sphere left on the branch.  
  
He turns to me then, one eyebrow raised as he gestures with his head toward the hanging plant.  
  
"I think it's our turn. If you don't mind, I mean, if you want to..."  
  
I feel a sudden thumping in my side, a strange choking sensation in my throat. It is a few moments before I can reply, my voice a stranger to my ears.  
  
"I should be pleased to participate."  
  
I let him steer me across the floor, his hand on the small of my back, until we are under the single white berry among the leaves of green. He looks up at it, the lights of the festive decorations mirrored in his fine eyes, then back at me.  
  
"Are you sure? You can say no, if you don't think it's appropriate."  
  
My tongue is frozen, immobile. I make sure he is looking into my eyes so there is no mistake and nod, once.  
  
He smiles and places his other hand on the back of my head, caressing my ear with his thumb before leaning in to me and, gently and perhaps a bit tentatively, placing his lips on mine.  
  
My eyes close as  
  
 _the universe comes to a halt nothing moves nothing rotates revolves velocity zero acceleration zero change in entropy zero amplitude zero nothing exists but this moment nothing I am nothing formless weightless drifting vapor he is warmth light everything he presses me to him his hands on my back on my head in my hair pulling asking yes pressure increasing opening oh silky velvet delicious demanding yes I respond tasting twirling I cannot get enough I cannot my hands rise to his hips no light but his no sound but my pulse rushing in my ears and his voice in my mouth in my mind and he asks me_  
  
 _tonight...?_  
  
I am suddenly unsteady on my feet, disequilibrium striking me as form and motion return to my world, but I am still able to murmur my acquiescence, my eager tongue loosed to tell him  
  
 _yes_  
  
  
***  
  
  
Awake the voice! Awake the string!  
Heart, ear, and eye, and everything...  
  
Dark and dull night, fly hence away,  
And give the honor to this day,  
That sees December turned to May.  
  
If we may ask the reason, say  
The why, and wherefore, all things here  
Seem like the springtime of the year?  
  
Why does the chilling Winter’s morn  
Smile, like a field beset with corn?  
Or smell, like to a mead new-shorn,  
Thus, on the sudden?  
  
Come and see  
The cause, why things thus fragrant be...  
  
We see Him come, and know Him ours,  
Who, with His sunshine, and His showers,  
Turns all the patient ground to flowers.  
  
The darling of the world is come,  
And fit it is, we find a room  
To welcome Him. The nobler part  
Of all the house here, is the heart,  
  
Which we will give Him; and bequeath  
This holly, and this ivy wreath,  
To do Him honor; who’s our King,  
And Lord of all this reveling.  
  
from  _A Christmas Carol, Sung To The King In The Presence At White-Hall_  
Robert Herrick (1591-1674)

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to the K/S Advent community on LiveJournal. Thanks to SarahOL for her much-appreciated beta skills.
> 
> Peace, Love, and Merry Christmas!


End file.
